THERAFORGIVENESS
The Art of Being Human Again
There is a word I invented for a kind of healing I think we don't talk about enough.
THERAFORGIVENESS.
It sounds a little ridiculous.
And maybe that's part of why I like it.
It is forgiveness with a little more breathing room.
Forgiveness for the unfinished.
Forgiveness for the mistakes.
Forgiveness for the detours.
Forgiveness for the days when we didn't know better.
Forgiveness for the things we thought we had to rush.
Forgiveness for trying too hard.
Forgiveness for not trying at all.
Forgiveness for being human.
I spent a long time trying to get everything right.
Maybe many of us do.
We organize.
We plan.
We optimize.
We fix.
We create systems.
We make lists.
We create goals.
We reinvent ourselves.
We imagine the version of ourselves who finally has everything figured out.
And then we tell ourselves:
When I become that person, then I can really live.
But what if that person never arrives?
What if life isn't a waiting room for our perfected selves?
What if we are supposed to participate while we are becoming?
That question has been changing something inside me.
I have had my hermit chapter.
And honestly?
I needed it.
There are seasons when we need to retreat.
To create.
To think.
To read.
To recover.
To make things quietly.
To hear our own thoughts again.
To disappear from the noise long enough to remember what our own voice sounds like.
There is nothing wrong with that.
But eventually, there comes a moment when the door opens.
And you realize:
Oh.
I'm ready to go back outside.
Not because the world suddenly became perfect.
But because I am ready to participate in it again.
Slowly.
Surely.
Imperfectly.
My Little Mermaid moment
There is something funny about the old dream of wanting to be "part of the world."
Maybe that is where I am now.
I've spent enough time underwater.
I've collected my treasures.
I've created my little worlds.
I've made music.
I've written ideas.
I've imagined futures.
I've built things quietly.
And now I hear something calling me toward the shore.
Not a command.
An invitation.
Come out.
Meet people.
Make things.
Share things.
Open the doors.
Travel.
Perform someday.
Create experiences.
Read the books you've been saving.
Make the videos.
Tell the stories.
Open the practice.
Laugh.
Try.
Fail.
Try again.
Live.
Maybe being part of the world doesn't mean having everything figured out.
Maybe it means being willing to show up.
I am giving myself permission to make mistakes.
This might be one of the most radical forms of freedom.
I don't have to know exactly how this next chapter will unfold.
I don't have to build it perfectly.
I don't have to make the perfect decision every time.
I don't have to know whether something will work before I try it.
I don't have to turn every mistake into a lesson immediately.
Sometimes I can simply say:
Well… that didn't work.
😂
And keep going.
There is such tenderness in that.
Because when we stop demanding perfection from ourselves, we become much more willing to participate in our own lives.
THERAFORGIVENESS is not letting ourselves off the hook.
It is letting ourselves be human while we learn.
There is a difference.
Self-forgiveness doesn't mean we stop growing.
It means we don't have to hate ourselves into growth.
We can take responsibility without punishment.
We can learn without shame.
We can change without declaring our former selves failures.
We can say:
I know better now.
And then do better.
That's enough.
I don't need to finish everything.
This may be one of the most liberating discoveries of all.
There will always be another idea.
Another song.
Another book.
Another project.
Another website.
Another video.
Another dream.
Another version.
Another thing to organize.
Another thing to improve.
The creative mind can generate infinity.
But a human life cannot contain infinity.
So perhaps the goal isn't to finish everything.
Perhaps the goal is to choose what matters now.
To make something beautiful.
To share something meaningful.
To help someone.
To experience something.
To love something.
To be present for something.
And then let the rest wait.
I can return to life before I am ready.
Maybe "ready" is overrated.
We wait for confidence.
We wait for clarity.
We wait for the perfect timing.
We wait until we look better.
Feel better.
Know more.
Have more.
Finish more.
And meanwhile—
life is happening.
Maybe we don't need to leap.
Maybe we simply need to take one step.
Then another.
Then another.
Slowly.
Surely.
With forgiveness.
There is no shame in starting again.
There is no shame in changing direction.
There is no shame in realizing that something you once wanted isn't what you want anymore.
There is no shame in discovering that the person you were five years ago had different priorities.
There is no shame in saying:
I want something different now.
That isn't failure.
That's life.
We are allowed to evolve.
We are allowed to outgrow our own plans.
We are allowed to become strangers to our former expectations.
And we are allowed to introduce ourselves to ourselves again.
Maybe coming back to life isn't dramatic.
Maybe it looks ordinary.
Opening the door.
Going outside.
Calling someone.
Reading a book.
Making a song because you want to.
Writing a page.
Uploading an old travel video.
Opening a practice.
Going somewhere you've never been.
Standing on a stage someday.
Sitting quietly afterward.
Having a conversation.
Making a mistake.
Laughing.
Coming home.
Trying again tomorrow.
Perhaps this is what returning looks like.
Not a grand reinvention.
Just participation.
So this is my permission slip.
I don't need to become perfect before I come back to the world.
I don't need to have everything organized.
I don't need to know exactly where this chapter is going.
I don't need to make every decision correctly.
I don't need to prove that I deserve the life I want.
I am allowed to simply enter it.
With my unfinished stories.
My strange ideas.
My mistakes.
My experience.
My curiosity.
My humor.
My music.
My books.
My work.
My questions.
My scars.
My dreams.
My ridiculous amount of creative files. 😂
All of it.
I can bring all of it.
THERAFORGIVENESS
Maybe healing isn't always about becoming someone new.
Maybe sometimes healing is finally allowing ourselves to stop fighting the person we already are.
To say:
I forgive you for not knowing.
I forgive you for taking the long way.
I forgive you for getting tired.
I forgive you for changing your mind.
I forgive you for making mistakes.
I forgive you for needing time.
I forgive you for being human.
And then—
we get up.
We open the door.
We step outside.
And we begin again.
Not perfectly.
Not fearlessly.
Not completely ready.
But alive.
Because perhaps the goal was never to become perfect enough to live.
Perhaps the goal was simply to realize:
I am already here.
And I am ready to be part of the world.
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